In Her Eyes

by Sarah Alderson

  I lean over the railing but can’t see anyone and the footsteps stop. I turn towards the doors to the ICU – feeling suddenly exposed out here in the stairwell – and it’s then, out the corner of my eye, that I catch a blur of movement as someone starts bounding up the last two flights of stairs towards me. It’s the same man – the one who tried to follow me into the elevator. He’s launching himself up the steps three at a time, and he’s holding something black, something metal, in his hand – a gun!

  I fumble in terror for the door handle. But it won’t open. It’s locked from the inside. There’s a small electronic card reader beside it that I hadn’t noticed before. I pound on the glass panes but the hallway is empty. Where did the cop go? Glancing back, I see the man has reached the top of the stairs. I think about making a run for it – trying to get to the next floor up – but he’s almost on me. All I can do is shrink back against the door, legs giving way.

  The man slows, seeing that I’m trapped. He takes a step towards me and I let out a sob. ‘Please,’ I say weakly, despising myself for pleading. ‘Don’t hurt me!’

  He’s out of breath and as he takes another step forwards I see the victory in his eyes. He points his gun at my chest. A tear slips down my cheek. I don’t want to die like this.

  ‘Did you know your husband is bankrupt?’ he says.

  What? My brain takes a moment to compute the question, then my gaze drops to the gun in his hand.

  It’s not a gun at all. It’s a small, black voice recorder.

  ‘Euan Shriver,’ the man says, thrusting the recorder in my direction. ‘Santa Barbara Herald. Can you tell me, Mrs Walker, did you know about your husband’s debt?’

  ‘What?’ I whisper, my heart still hammering. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘His company has gone bust. He owes over a million dollars to creditors. Did you know?’

  Over a million dollars? That’s ridiculous. How can that be? Where’s this man getting his facts from?

  ‘How is your daughter doing?’ he asks. ‘Has she woken up yet? Did she witness anything? Can she identify her attackers? Can you comment?’

  ‘Here’s a comment. Fuck off!’

  I jump. Nate has appeared behind me in the doorway to the ICU. He’s purple-faced with fury and looks like he just ran a mile to get here. He rushes past me and the journalist scuttles backwards, stumbling against the railing. Nate snatches the voice recorder out of his hand and tosses it over his shoulder into the stairwell. I hear it smash as it lands floors below us.

  The journalist lets out a cry of protest. ‘You can’t do that!’

  Nate grabs him by the collar and hauls him so he’s leaning over the same six-story drop his voice recorder plummeted into. ‘Looks like I just did,’ Nate snarls. ‘And you’ll be lucky if you don’t follow after it. How the hell did you get inside?’

  ‘It’s a public hospital,’ the man cries. ‘I’m not breaking the law.’

  ‘I could arrest you for harassment.’

  ‘And I’ll press charges for criminal damage. That was a four-hundred-dollar piece of equipment.’

  ‘You won’t be able to press charges if you can’t speak or write.’ Nate twists the journalist’s arm behind his back until he howls with pain. ‘And who’s going to believe you anyways? Who do you work for?’ Nate demands.

  ‘The Herald,’ the guy grunts, his face contorting with pain, sweat beading on his brow.

  I’m about to put my hand on Nate’s arm to get him to stop when the doors to the ICU fly open and Laurie and the cop who was standing duty in the hallway come rushing into the stairwell.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ the cop asks, glancing at Nate and the man he has dangling over the railing.

  Nate drops his arms to his sides and takes a step back. ‘Everything’s fine. This gentleman was just leaving.’

  The journalist staggers in disarray towards the steps, clutching his injured shoulder and glaring at Nate, though there’s fear in his eyes too.

  ‘And if I see your face anywhere near here again,’ roars Nate, making the man jump in fright, ‘I’ll arrest you. Go on, get lost!’

  The man vanishes, rushing down the stairs like he’s got a rocket up his tail.

  ‘Damn press,’ Nate spits, as he turns around to face us. His shirt is rumpled and his hands are shaking. ‘Are you OK?’ he asks as Laurie rushes over to me and asks the same thing.

  ‘Is it true?’ I ask. ‘What he said about Robert . . . about him being bankrupt?’

  Nate nods. ‘That’s what I was calling about. I’m sorry, Ava.’

  I glance at Laurie. She knows too. Maybe she heard from the reporters outside. She looks at me pityingly and I have to turn away, shoving past them both and heading back inside the ICU.

  The linoleum floor shimmers in front of my eyes. All these puzzle pieces I never even knew were puzzle pieces start to slot into place, the picture becoming clear: the insurance troubles here at the hospital; Robert’s increasing stress over the last few months; the way he’s been locking himself away every night in his study; the fact that last week Javier approached me about not having been paid for two months . . . I dismissed it, putting it down to Robert just being forgetful, being caught up in work. I’ve been so goddamn blind. And so damn smug at the same time. Thinking I knew everything that was going on in my family – that everyone told me everything. Why did I think I was the only one who had secrets?

  Chapter 18

  Robert looks up at me, hunkered over himself like a child being scolded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

  ‘Sorry?’ I say blankly.

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’ Robert bows his head, dropping it into his hands.

  I collapse down onto the sofa opposite him. I can’t bring myself to sit anywhere near him, rage bubbles through my veins so hot that I can almost see the steam rising off my skin. The whole way home in the car I tried not to let my anger get the better of me. I told myself to stay calm but now I’m confronting him all that goes out the window. ‘You didn’t think I had a right to know?’ I shout.

  He glances at me through the slits between his fingers. ‘I thought I had it under control.’

  I can’t look at him. If I look at him I might launch myself across the coffee table and start pummeling his already injured face. I look around the living room instead. ‘The house. Are we going to lose the house?’ I ask.

  I am surprised at how calm I sound. I think it’s because it all feels so unreal. It’s like trying to understand basic math and then being told to wrap your head around quantum physics. I was struggling to deal with the break-in and what’s happened to June. Now this on top . . . it’s too much to process. I press my hands to my throbbing temples.

  ‘The bank already owns the house,’ Robert mutters. ‘It’s not ours anymore.’

  ‘But we paid cash for it,’ I stammer, wondering how on earth someone can fritter away close to three million dollars, which is what the house is worth.

  ‘I had debts. The business . . . The app I’ve been working on. I poured a lot into it. And . . . I made some stupid investments.’ He mumbles this last part.

  ‘In what?’ I ask, anger giving way to stupefaction.

  ‘In some start-ups.’

  I groan and rub a hand over my eyes. I’m trapped inside a nightmare. Who is this man sitting opposite me? This man with the haggard expression, livid bruises and pouches under his eyes isn’t familiar to me at all. He’s a complete stranger, I realize with a shock. I can’t even remember the last time I really looked at him, let alone the last time I really spoke to him, about anything beyond the children or everyday nonsense. When did it get like this? How did I not notice the giant fissure between us?

  But deep down I know the answer to that question. It’s been at least eighteen months that we’ve been drifting apart and I’m surely to blame, at least for half of it. But not for this. What Robert’s done is unforgivable.

  ‘Surely there’s something left,’ I say.

&nb
sp; He doesn’t reply.

  ‘Our 401s?’ I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘You gambled away our pensions?’ I hiss.

  ‘Yes,’ he mumbles.

  I try to gather a breath but the room tilts violently on its axis.

  ‘My inheritance?’ I ask quietly.

  He gives a shake of the head.

  ‘The kids’ college funds?’

  He shakes his head again.

  Rage spirals up inside me and I have to clamp my jaw shut to stop it corkscrewing its way out.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbles.

  Sorry?! That inheritance was my money, gifted to me by my grandparents after they died. Not much, but I’d been setting it aside, hoping to use it one day to help the kids get their feet on the property ladder, or to pay for an extravagant family holiday when I turned fifty . . . or to start a new business, maybe open my own art gallery in town. I don’t even know. But the point is, it was my money. Not his. And if he’s spent the college fund, what will happen to Hannah? How will we afford to pay for her tuition? Or June’s?

  ‘How could you be so damn stupid?’ I shout. I stand up. Bone tired, with every muscle in my body aching as if I’ve done twelve rounds in a boxing ring, I walk towards the door because I cannot be in this space with him for one more second.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Robert calls after me.

  ‘Back to the hospital.’

  ‘We need to pack,’ he says.

  I wheel around. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The bank is foreclosing on the house.’

  I close my eyes and take another deep breath. Keep calm. Keep it all inside. There’s no point in losing it. It’s beyond that now. ‘Did you talk to them?’ I ask. ‘Did you explain? How can they expect us to move with everything else that’s happening? Where are we supposed to go?’

  ‘They’ve given us an extra week. But we were meant to be out months ago.’

  I stare at him. ‘Months ago?’ Is he joking? He looks at me with a hangdog expression. Apparently not. All that time. And he never once thought to tell me what was going on. ‘You got us into this mess,’ I finally say and walk out the door.

  Laurie is waiting for me outside.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asks when I climb in her car.

  I shake my head. Laurie thankfully doesn’t say anything more. She starts driving, slowing to navigate her way through the cluster of news crews gathered at the gate to the house.

  I close my eyes as we inch our way through them. I’m getting used to the near constant throb of pain in my head, like a nagging headache that won’t go away, but every time the stress increases, the pain flares and I have to sit quietly with my eyes closed until it passes. A fist lands on the window right beside me, making me jump, and my eyes fly open.

  ‘Did you know?’ one of the reporters yells at me, the snout of his camera pressed up against the glass. I cringe away from him, automatically scanning the crowd, remembering the journalist from the hospital. I can’t see him among the dozen or so reporters. I wish Nate could do the same thing to all these ones, make them all leave us alone.

  Laurie leans her palm on the horn until the news crews back grudgingly away and we’re able to squeeze past.

  ‘We have to leave the house,’ I say finally to Laurie, when I can’t keep it in any longer. ‘The bank is foreclosing. We have one week to get out.’

  Laurie stares at me, her mouth falling open. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say with a shrug, and it’s true. I have no idea.

  And what about the medical fees for June and me? Has he been paying our health insurance premiums? If not, then we’re even more screwed. The ICU is thousands of dollars a day. I grimace and shake my head. I can’t think about that right now. The only important thing is June. The rest will have to wait.

  I find Hannah at the hospital, sitting with a tear-stained face beside June’s bed.

  ‘Is it true?’ she asks, jumping to her feet the moment I enter.

  I nod. This is the worst of it, having to face my child and admit to her that her future has just been wiped out because her father is an idiot. I lay a hand against my stomach to still the boiling anger brewing there, which feels like it might spill over and scald anyone in the vicinity.

  I put my hand on Hannah’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, wondering why I’m the one apologizing to her. I should have kept a better eye on our finances yes, and maybe I’ve been too blithe with my spending but for God’s sake, he never gave me a single indication of the debt we were in.

  I scan June for any sign of change but there’s none. If anything, she looks paler, the shadows around her eyes bluer, her cheeks more sunken. The machines beep their relentless tune and I suddenly feel like screaming, like punching holes in the walls and yelling until all the howling rage and spitting anger and utter desperation is purged. Right now, with it trapped inside me, it feels corrosive, as if it’s eating me alive from the inside out.

  ‘What’s going to happen?’ Hannah asks, looking up at me, eyes wide.

  I shake my head and press my lips together even harder and somehow, though God knows how, I force a smile. ‘It’ll all be OK,’ I say.

  She nods at me and I can see she believes it, or at least she’s trying hard to. I turn away.

  The lies we tell.

  Chapter 19

  DAY 4

  I still have no idea what we’re going to do the next morning. I spent an uncomfortable and sleepless night twisted like a pretzel in a chair beside June’s bed. Now I’m sitting with the hospital’s insurance liaison in her office, my eyes blurring from the staggering sums I’m being asked to review. I’ve never seen so many zeroes in one place. It’s almost laughable. A buzzing noise breaks through the haze. It’s my phone. Gene. Damn. He must have heard. I can’t talk to him right now. I’ll have to call him back.

  Robert apparently signed something saying that we would be personally responsible for the medical bills given our lack of health coverage. Even if he hadn’t lost all our money, these kinds of sums would bankrupt a small nation. And what was he doing signing anything? He knew it meant nothing. But then again what was he going to say to the people trying to save his daughter’s life? ‘No, we can’t actually afford it. Turn the machines off’?

  The door bursts open behind me.

  ‘Mom?’

  I spin around in my chair. Hannah is in the doorway, her face a horror mask.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, rising out of my seat, the papers scattering around me in a snowstorm flurry. ‘Is it June? What’s happened?’

  Hannah shakes her head. ‘No, but you need to come. Now.’

  She grabs my hand and tugs me out of the room. ‘What is it? Where are we going?’ I ask, dread making my legs feel like they’re encased in concrete.

  She drags me into a waiting area where exhausted families sit awaiting news of loved ones. A muted flat-screen television is mounted on the wall and Hannah halts in front of it.

  I glance up. Not more news. I can’t face seeing any more news reports. I’m about to turn away when the word ‘ARREST’ flashes on the bottom of the screen and captures my attention. The image it’s blasted over is helicopter footage – and it’s a bird’s-eye view of our house. I clutch Hannah’s arm and gasp. They’ve arrested someone! Finally.

  The camera zooms wonkily in on the front door of the house and I see two policemen leading someone out in handcuffs. Wait. What’s happening?’

  ‘Why are they arresting Dad?’ Hannah cries.

  I don’t answer her. I’m already walking towards the nurse’s station. I yell at the orderly sitting at the desk to pass me the TV remote and then snatch it out of her hand so I can pump up the volume. I don’t care that the people in the waiting room are all staring and that Hannah has started crying hysterically.

  ‘And news is just in that Robert Walker has been arrested,’ a woman’s voice intones as the image captured from the helicopter f
ills the screen. ‘We’re crossing right now to Diane Washington who is outside the Ventura Sheriff’s Office where we’re expecting a press announcement any moment from the Sheriff in charge of the investigation.’

  The camera cuts away from the studio to a woman with a helmet of hair who is standing outside Nate’s office along with a small army of other reporters.

  ‘Mom?’

  Hannah is pulling on my arm. I turn to her impatiently, noticing as I do that everyone in the room is now gawping openly at us, a few of them exchanging whispers and nods at the television. Hannah jerks her head to the left and I glance in that direction to see a woman filming us on her phone with absolutely no subtlety whatsoever. She even stands up to get a better view.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I say, taking Hannah by the hand and pulling her towards the elevators.

  As we pass the television I catch a glimpse of Nate on screen, striding out of the building and heading towards a podium. What’s he doing? How could he arrest Robert without telling me? I drag my feet, wanting to stay and listen to whatever he’s about to say, but the heat of all those eyes on us, and the awareness of the woman filming us, makes me turn and quickly usher Hannah into the elevator.

  The doors close on us and once we’re sealed inside Hannah starts to cry even harder, shaking. ‘It’s OK,’ I say, putting my arms around her. ‘It’s just a stupid mistake. That’s all. Just a stupid mistake.’

  It has to be. What else could it be? But then I realize that it isn’t Hannah who is shaking so hard her teeth are rattling. It’s me.

  Chapter 20

  ‘Solicitation.’

  ‘What?’ I say, blinking at Laurie in shock.

  She shakes her head and keeps on reading from her iPad. ‘I don’t think it means what you think it means. I think it means he solicited help to commit a crime.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘There’s more,’ Laurie continues. ‘Conspiracy to commit insurance fraud. Conspiracy to commit burglary. Aiding and abetting . . .’

  ‘Stop,’ I shout. I can’t handle it, can’t begin to understand what is happening. How can they have arrested Robert? How can he be guilty of all these things?